I have written so much about tech addiction, and I fear I have missed the forest for the trees. I’ve confused the symptom with the disease. O Lord, I am stricken with the disease of the 21st Century, and the cure is agonizing! The fantastic worlds I contrive within me are my only source of pleasure. The flesh hurts, my dear reader. The deeper I dig into myself, the scarier the outside world becomes. How sensitive is my skin that even your judging eyes burn me!
You see, dear reader, I am a "schizoid." A dreamer. “Leaving type.” That is my predicament. Ever since I was a child, my young mind worked overtime, weaving narratives for an audience of one - myself. Now, I find it challenging to remain in the present moment. From the most fantastical fiction that never found its way onto paper to the realistic romantic fantasies I've never lived, I have spent much of my life in my head. I am a thought addict in recovery. I love to think. And while there is no inherent fault in the act of thinking itself, when thoughts remain untransmuted into action, they become putrid and stagnant, like waters left undisturbed.
Such imbalances can be rectified, but only when one humbly acknowledges and confronts the profound flaws within their own lifestyle. The Self led me to this point, where I have come to understand what courage truly means. Consequently, I refrain from labeling my past self cowardly, for the notion of courage had eluded me until now. My reaction to fear was to hide and wish problems away. Yet, even though I have become aware of these patterns, and you may now judge my cowardice, the truth is far from simple.
Daily, I grapple with two types of pain. One is immediate and visceral: the twisting and contorting of my physical and emotional being. Every suppressed cry, every stifled scream, every joyous laughter held back has manifested as a tightening within, a straitjacket of my own making. The process of unwinding and unburdening is a painful endeavor, marked by both physical discomfort and the release of pent-up emotions, akin to opening Pandora's box. More than just tension, a part of me has become pseudo-necrotic, from the lower back downward - my hamstrings, glutes, and calves, feel lifeless and dead to the touch. Countless hours spent seated, plus many emotions repressed to the back of the body where neither I nor anyone else could perceive them. I was like a machine in a human flesh disguise, not knowing how skin felt like.
One might wish to elevate my quest for reconnecting with my embodied experience as a heroic and divine pursuit, but in truth, it is the second form of pain that propels me forward. A subtler kind, yet more insidious. The dreadful sense that, as mentioned earlier, my life lacks profound satisfaction, coupled with the gnawing anxiety of time slipping through my fingers. These sensations often come to me at night, whether in bed or returning from social events. And it is then, in those moments, a whisper, or perhaps a presence, emerges, asking, "Have you truly confronted yourself today?"
These words cut deep, for I stand in debt - a debt of time. Time slipped away in my youthful naivety, oblivious to the idea of courage. Did I always possess this knowledge, buried deep within? It does not seem so. Only the intellectualization of deeper truths, like Joseph Campbell's exploration of the Hero's Journey, ever reached me at first. Only the meta-narrative managed to find me amidst the heights of my intellectual high tower. Yet my descent has been difficult, marked by frequent backtracking.
This is where my technology addiction enters the narrative, no different from any other form of substance abuse. It serves as a numbing agent, drowning out the painful whispers when I refuse the call to action. Technology becomes the gateway to the heights of intellectual thought, my sanctuary when mere contemplation and daydreaming fall short. Yet, as I've iterated time and again, that which is repressed, ignored, and denied inevitably resurfaces with unwavering intensity. Nevertheless, I emphasize, that it is not as straightforward as it appears. We all grasp these concepts intellectually, just as we understand the inevitability of our mortality. But when confronted with the void, our instinctual response is to look away.
Notwithstanding, consider this: I label myself an addict, despite my reduced use of digital distractions. My muscles feel lifeless and rigid, yet my level of athleticism and physical activity surpasses that of the average individual. As you progress in life, your perception of normality will evolve toward higher and healthier standards. Be mindful not to chase elusive ideals to the extent that you overlook the meaningful milestones right before you. In my relentless pursuit of uncovering what lay hidden within, I excessively illuminated the darker emotions, ironically veiling my own happiness and joy in shadows.
In the end, it boils down to your aspiration for vitality. “Alive or dead” is binary, a realm best left to computers. Your prerogative, one that requires continual reaffirmation, is to determine how profoundly you wish to embrace life and to what degree. While you might anticipate a resounding decree from me that you must seize every moment to the fullest, I do not intend to impose such imperatives upon you. My purpose is simply to awaken your awareness, bestowing upon you both the burden and the privilege of choice.